Join The Crowd
by shintas1st
Summary: Being a leader isn't easy, and in the midst of battle even the best of situations can go up in smoke.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Ask me again and i'll spurt in your eye._

_Quick Note: This fic is second in a series of L4D crossovers featuring Sector V of KND. See my profile for the complete list._

Kuki's gone.

The fact lingers in the air as we trudge through littered streets with only the echo of our own footsteps to keep us company. No one has to say anything. Tommys' soft, hiccuping breaths as he sticks close behind me begin to grate on my nerves and I feel each of the others' gazes on my back as I stop and kneel, the sheen of a clip having caught my eye. It's nearly blanketed in tattered, blood soaked rags, and not far off a lump of flesh that I'm sure belonged to one of those _creatures _lets me know just who to thank for the ammunition. A subtle shift close beside me sends a chill up my spine but it's only Wally, his eyes seeming to burn into the side of my skull as I pocket the last two rounds in my pistol and reload.

"Stay close Tommy, I get the feeling we won't be finding any shelter for a while." I pretend not to notice the unnaturally bright green eyes looking my way. Focus. The lingering stare of the blond now behind me is mildly unsettling but understandable. He's been quiet since last night, every weapon handled in his presence drawing an empty glance that speaks far more than we've ever been graced to hear. I know what he's thinking. What if we run into Kuki sooner than expected? What if she attacks? Will defending ourselves against her be necessary? Is saving her really an option?

It bugs me, this uncertainty, but I'm not so sure he'll be of much help to us if we happen to run into her again. With Tommy already needing constant monitoring I feel a small nagging beginning to form at the back of my mind but stamp it down in favor of scanning the surrounding rooftops.

Five hours, twenty-five minutes, and thirty- seven seconds. I take a deep breath and feel the nausea churn deep inside as rank air filters into my lungs, but not even the scent of death is able to distract me as I tick away the digits in my head. It's been a full three hundred twenty-five minutes since we...parted ways with Kuki. My hand raises reflexively and I adjust my shades, trying to hide the brief shuddering movement that wracks my firing arm. The crunch of gravel should be the only sound I hear but the Gilligan brothers seem hell bent on getting us some unwanted attention. The younger sniffles loudly in the same instant I hear the beginnings of a lowly whistled tune coming from his sibling. It doesn't take much to shut them up though, Abigail has it covered before I even give in to the need to turn around.

"You two tryna' get us caught? Shut _up_." The strain in her voice is more than apparent even as she does her best to keep it to a whisper. She was all smiles for our comrade but she can't expect to hide those bloodshot eyes and drooping shoulders forever.

Inching around an overturned sedan takes the peaks of all our nerves to new heights; even Tommy has ceased his sniffling, seemingly holding his breath until safety is assured for a few more seconds. Every crack in the road or object misplaced by preceding chaos is cause for alarm, absolutely no place available to us being one hundred percent indestructible. I can feel my muscles straining to lock but shut down my instinct to tense by sheer force of will. I am the leader, the foundation. If I don't keep a level head my friends, possibly the only ones remaining, will end up finding it even more difficult to survive. The thoughts weigh heavy in my mind but I trudge forward, knowing with me they've laid their trust as I raise my weapon at the ready.

Ahead of us the street is dark and slowly growing lighter with the rising sun. We stick close to the sidewalk though wary of our footsteps in proximity to the curb. Mistakes like tripping or wandering too close to the windows and doors of deserted buildings around us are not an option unless our mission is to die. Because that is exactly what we're neck deep in; a mission. Or, if I correct myself, _missions_. Get my team out of this death trap, and - I resist the urge to look back at the young man we used to call Four - find a cure for our turned friend. For Kuki Sanban of Sector V.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Funny how nearly getting crushed by a car makes you reevaluate your priorities.

A thunderous roar nearly deafens me and Abby both, and I hear the accompanying screams as Wally and Hoagie open fire. One moment Abigail's waiting for me to hand her a medical kit and the next I find myself sprawled out on top of her, a gash running from the back of my ear to the nape of my neck. The blood starts a steady course down my head and I know I'm in trouble when the world suddenly tilts, my vision flickering for a few brief seconds like a worn bulb. My entire system seems to shut down, lids heavy, arms and legs limp despite my best efforts to move them, and I wonder if the injuries I've sustained are fatal. It takes me a long moment to realize I'm being dragged, soft fingers hooking into the back of my collar and the leather buckled strip just below, making the holster strapped tightly over my chest and shoulders feel like they're trying to tear through my clothes and into my skin. Asphalt scrapes at the palms of my hands and slowly the image of a hulking monster with it's one massive forearm raised in fury recedes until I'm staring at the sky, or what part of it I can see, through my heavily lidded eyes and the skewed metal of a destroyed fire escape high above. Everything seems so far away. The muffled car alarm...gun shots...screams...that dull throbbing at the base of my skull...

A sharp slap wrenches my head to the side and I can't help but cry out in pain, my fresh wound burning terribly. For a moment I'm on the verge of blacking out but then my entire body jolts as if energized, another furious bellow echoing off the brick walls of the makeshift shelter I've been taken to. Just beyond the mouth of the alley I see Abby running, rifle cocked and ready as she glances back over her shoulder at me with an expression of both severe worry and anger. There isn't even time for words; I drag myself to my feet with cold brick as my only support and follow after, eager to unload a few clips of hot lead into the hellish creature before it can do any further harm. My ears throb with pain when I finally catch up to her, the thick lenses of my shades shielding my eyes somewhat from the red flash of a pipe bomb and the limbs of what i'm sure used to be a local baseball team go flying. A soft grunt and Abby knows I'm right beside her; she continues dropping infected from the scaffolding above Hoagie's head without flinching as he takes care of the...the _thing_*...

"What the hell _is _that," I growl under my breath, earning a wry snort from the marks-woman, her braid snapping against my wrist as her head turns sharply.

"Dunno, but Abby thinks we should shoot first and ask questions later."

A chorus of gurgling screams and four more infected drop courtesy of my Glock nineteens. Both my wrists snap back with the force of the shots and I lean into Abby's slightly hunched shoulders with my own, feeling the shocks radiating between our bodies and canceling out as shot after shot from both our weapons race out into the approaching crowd. Not a full minute later I hear her voice in my ear yet again though it doesn't seem to be holding up all that well.

"Clearing a path to the right, th-" Metal splinters and flies, a piercing bird-like screech as Wally narrowly dodges a crushing blow from the creature's massive fist and time seems to slow as I watch him roll away, the car taking the blow and folding in half, wrapping around the snarling Infecteds' arm like a makeshift gauntlet. It howls and snorts like a pig, trapped for the moment by the dead weight dragging it down. Abby's still talking but I can't hear her, certain i'm deaf as annoyance flashes over her features and she pushes me. I stumble a few steps but the hint is clear. A quick glance in the direction i've been shoved tells me all I need to know; Tommy is trapped, pinned between the car that had flown over me earlier, his back pressed to a wrecked volvo with a single smoking tire planted just beneath his ribcage.

"Tommy!"

He's pale and even from my position I can see that he's having trouble breathing, his nails clawing unsuccessfully at the thick rubber. Running to him is my only option; with remnants of the horde darting after me and the enraged beast slamming the nearly unidentifiable hunk of metal against the ground and buildings it's more than obvious that if I don't get to him now I might not ever get to him at all.

* * *

_* The " thing" was a Charger._


	2. Chapter 2

"_Tommy!"_

That voice…

…it's faint but…I can tell it's Nigel. I try to say something back but all that comes out is a low groan. For some reason it's hard to breathe; my chest feels tight, pinched. It's like I'm being squeezed by a giant lobster claw.

I groan again as my eyes roll down my chest and I finally realize what's crushing my lungs. A thick tire with asphalt and who knows what else in the treads, still attached to the car it belongs to, is rammed against my chest and _oh God it hurts so bad. _All I can think to do is squirm and, as the sharp needling feeling that comes after sensation returns to a numb area attacks my chest, drag my nails across the mass to hopefully get some kind of grip. My fingers ache, the tips feeling almost rug burned from all the scrabbling. When I finally manage to get a firm hold on the stupid thing I come to the quick realization that it won't budge, not just from my pushing alone anyways. I can feel the heat of it eating through my shirt and I hiss in pain as I attempt to lever it off with my feet or, at the very least, knees, a pulsing ache hammering in my sides as my muscles strain with the effort.

"Tommy, move your hands, _now_." Nigels' voice again, right beside me this time. I feel stronger hands pushing at my own and for a second the resistance I'd been giving falters, the tire settling back into place, squishing me even further into the cold steel of the vehicle behind me. I cry out in pain as I feel one of my ribs threatening to give, only to be reprimanded for it in the form of a slap. Had I been able to breathe properly I know I would have ended up stuttering; somehow not being able to see his eyes as he levels me with a glare behind those creepy shades makes it ten times worse. When he speaks again it's like he's hissing at me, an unspoken threat of another strike wafting off of his every word.

"If we're going to get this thing off of you we don't need to worry about any skin munching freaks while we do it, so please, _do _try to be _quiet_." He speaks slowly, enunciating every word as if he thinks I'm retarded, though it isn't of much consequence; he's never really noticed me as anything more than "Hoagies' kid brother" anyways.

Nigels' nails scrape across my collar as he shoves his fingers between the tire and my chest, veins on the backs of his pale hands already standing out before he even begins to pull.

"Can you pull your arms back far enough to get them between you and this thing?" I try, wince, and shake my head weakly, the feeling of my chest being slowly turned to mush becoming so much worse whenever I so much as think of using my shoulders. "How about your legs, can you use your knees?"

This time I shrug and I just know he's giving me a dirty look. It hurt too much before, trying to tuck my legs into my body, but I know that if he can get it an inch or two off of me I might be able to help. I inform him of the fact as loudly as I dare and the grim frown that comes to his face as he nods solemnly actually serves to ease my anxiousness. I've seen that look too many times to not know what it means. Tensing, I brace my hands and elbows against the dented metal door behind me and ready my legs for what I'm sure is going to be some heavy duty lifting.

"One...two..._threeee-!_" I can barely hear him over the steady spatter of gunfire from our other teammates though the way he suddenly digs his boots into the ground and throws every ounce of his body weight away from me tells me that now is the time I should start pushing. He grunts loudly, teeth bared in a frustrated snarl as the car refuses to move, the entirety of its' heavy frame balanced on me and the half of its' hood that's left. I notice the way he's specifically pulling away from me, and wonder why he doesn't just go under the upturned hood and rock it until it rolls over onto its' side. I feel pressure being released centimeter by centimeter and with a shit eating grin I curl my body, slamming my knees into the underside of the tire. Surprisingly the car begins rocking almost immediately but I learn my lesson the hard way as it slides up a couple inches, dragging up my front almost like a hot cheese grater as the jagged metal of the heavily damaged hubcap tears through my shirt and scrapes at my skin like claws. His hand is over my mouth before I can let out the screech bubbling in my throat and wordlessly he returns to his position, flinging himself back violently in order to regain the ground he'd lost by my stupidity. A low, scratchy squeak sounds and he relaxes, flinging himself back again soon after, relieving me of the spines creating shallow gashes along my torso.

Nigels' fingers only slip once. I have enough room to breathe now and as I watch him fall, completely out of control of his bodys' momentum after a vicious, wrenching yank I press forward and manage to somehow hook my fingers into the front of his long sleeved tee. His head snaps back hard but I know the impact would have been worse if he'd fallen to the concrete. He seems to collect himself slowly before realizing just what it is thats' holding him up and slapping my hand away, clearing his throat as he turns. I resist the urge to whine as he takes a few steps and frantically work to get the debris further away from me to keep from having to deal with another set of scrapes. Nigel wouldn't just leave me behind would he? I know I was just a tag along when we were younger but I don't know what i'd do if they were to leave me behind now.

A feeling like ice settles in the pit of my stomach as he clears the curb and keeps walking, well over five feet away from me now. I can see my brother cheering in the distance as Abby fires a killing shot into the huge monster that had started all of this mess to begin with and then Nigels' back interferes with my line of vision, as if cutting me off from them. From my friends...from my family. " N-nigel, hey! Hey wait a sec!" I hate how squeaky my voice is as I call for him but he doesn't seem to hear me at all, making the feeling of being abandoned even worse. Gritting my teeth I mash hard against the car, dread slowly turning to simmering anger. If he'd just stop being so impatient, come back here and _help _me, we could all leave here in one piece. I push again, feeling the dampness of my shirt more than my actual wounds. " Where the hell are you going?"

A deft click is all the warning I get before I reflexively tuck my head into my arms and I feel every fiber of my being go taut with fear. A hail of bullets pour over my head and I can't bring myself to raise it even if I wanted to, too busy complying with his screamed order to keep my head down. Stale, hot air like something from a body burning furnace creeps over the back of my neck and then a wetness that I don't want to identify takes its' turn in soaking my shirt through and through. I nearly puke and fight to keep my eyes from watering but squeezing them shut doesn't seem to be doing the trick and I curl tighter into what little space I have.

Watching old war movies with my dad when I was little wasn't half as bad as this, even with all the screaming and dead eyes i'd been basically forced to see. Now I'm living it, we all are, and even though they're keeping me safe it chills me how little it seems to affect them. No one panics like I do, no one freaks and fumbles with their weapons or thinks twice about shooting what used to be _human beings _dead. The only emotion i've seen from any of them besides anger is sadness and the only one to actually shed tears was Abby. I find myself missing the deafening blast of gunfire as the screams of all those poor people, who've been turned to monsters and are mowed down like insects, sink back into my head. Nigel doesn't force me to look at him as he returns, only works with my jerky movements to clear a few more inches of space. When I break free its' on wobbly legs and glass digs hard into my knees and palms as I lose my balance.

"Get up." His back is facing me again but I can tell from his tone that he's angry. Now that the roaring monster is out of commission Wally and the others work on cleaning out any straggling Infecteds though the gurgling growls and snarls are still enough to make my stomach flip. For some reason my ankles feel particularly sore but I ignore it, using a bent lamp post as support. I watch him quietly as I wait for the blood to flow to the numb parts of my legs, examining the gash on the back of his skull with a grimace. It's probably not that deep, already the wound has stopped bleeding, but it looks horrible. Clotted blood dark red, almost brown, has collected along the rim of the cut and dirt laced with tiny specks of rock makes the glistening wound look almost scabbed. When he turns his head fat droplets create twin trails to the collar of his shirt but he either doesn't notice or ignores the sensation, opaque lenses just barely showing me my pitiful reflection through a thin coat of grime.

Self consciously I look down, my once pristine clothing stained nearly beyond recognition. The previously white tee is destroyed, yellowed and frayed around the edges with a horrifically large bloodstain along the front, more skin than i'm used to having exposed made visible by the jagged tears running from neck to waist. My jackets' not in as bad a condition though what's supposed to be military green fabric has been rendered nearly black, and my jeans aren't doing much better, dirt, blood and, as I pat myself off..._puke _on the seat of them. The slime is warm, makes my trembling fingers tingle, and I raise my hand for Nigel to see, the entirety of his slim frame going taut with realization. I can't even remember the last time i've seen him remove his shades but the recent string of events sucks any emotion there might have been from the occasion, leaving it as interesting as tying my shoe.

"Move..._move now_, get back to the others!" Before I can even think i've been flung by the front of my shirt and my heart wrenches painfully as I try to keep myself from falling, from grinding into the ground. More shots, an alarming click as the last of his bullets escape their clips, and a wet slap like soaked clothes on a counter top reaches my ears. Hoagies' screaming at me, _aiming_ at me, the expression in his eyes nearly unreadable from all the way across the intersection but the fear of not knowing registers in less than a second as i'm grabbed from behind. Fingers built more like talons easily tear into the down stuffed sleeves of my jacket as I jerk away and spin on my heel, just in time to get festering brain sprayed across my chest. The sight sends my mind into a flurry of panic but in a moment everything goes blank, right down to the need to breathe. A pair of guns and shades are at my feet and i'm grabbing, running for a dilapidated iron door despite the mass of flailing limbs blocking my way.

Nigels' been taken.

"_Get outta my way!_" Choking, flailing, encased in some freaky looking length of what can only be a tongue, he ascends at an alarming rate toward a second story window as dark as i've ever seen and spewing smoke. Just on the edge of the sill I spot a slender form, tall yet hunched, shuddering as it disappears into the safety of the room it'd no doubt emerged from with a jerky nodding movement of its' head. It's reeling Nigel in and if his frantic thrashing is any indication, it's crushing him as well.

I know as I wrap my fingers around the doorknob that the two of us would have been dead by now had it not been for the rest of the team. With those disgusting creatures zeroing in on the bile coating my back there is no way I would possibly be able to make it without them covering me. I can only pray I make it as I take the stairs two at a time, faith in a leader, even one as great as Nigel, no where near as overwhelming or as _real _as the truth of the matter. He could die and, like every other mistake ever made in what's left of our group, it'd be all my fault.


End file.
